


Incendēre

by killing_loneliness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killing_loneliness/pseuds/killing_loneliness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Incendēre - To set on fire.</p><p>The Winter Soldier is on the run from Hydra. But running isn't easy when innocents are involved, and Hydra<br/>doesn't leave messes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did not create any of the Characters except for Marceline and her family.

He knew that face. He didn't know how he knew that face... but he knew it. He knew it was special. He knew he wasn't supposed to be attempting to destroy it, but he was told to. He wanted to fight his orders, but orders are orders. Disobedience was not allowed, and somehow he knew that would only postpone the targets death. And probably make it more excruciating. But he cared for his mission. He felt movement under the ice that encased his heart when he looked at the target's face. He knew that face. He _loved_ that face. He felt it when the ice started to melt. He loved it. He did not want it to feel pain. Therefore, he decided to carry out his mission. He would end it quickly.


	2. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She gives him shelter. He doesn't really know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer on mysterious hobo.

“Seriously? Fuck everything,” Marceline Raymond muttered as she examined her car.

The hood was currently bent like an accordion, and the glass from her headlights lay shattered on the ground below. All because some dumb teenager thought he could make it across the street from the gas station into the neighborhood _without_ looking both ways. Thankfully she wasn’t hurt – aside from the pounding headache – and supposedly it was good thing that the stupid kid was not either. But her car was wrecked. Her best way of getting from her janky apartment to her horrid job was gone.  Of course she could always take the bus, but after being robbed on a transit bus at the age of twelve had left her slightly scarred.

“When push comes to shove…” she muttered to herself as the thought passed.

Marceline finished giving her report to the officer, watched the moron kid cry as he was handed a ticket for reckless driving, and watched her best mode of transportation be hauled off to some car yard. Then she turned towards the opposite direction she needed to go and took the two mile hike off to the nearest bus station. She was lucky enough to catch the last bus going back into town, but by the time she had gotten off the bus – after the four hundred stops it had to make – it was already nearing one o’clock in the morning.  And of course this part of Brooklyn is always shotty at best. That was probably why it didn’t surprise her to find a bum hanging around outside of her building.

Normally she wouldn’t pay any mind to the bums that hang around, but the a bright glint that shined off his hand caught her attention. A bum with a  shiny watch? That was almost unheard of seeing as most bums get mugged or beaten down for what little they managed to hold onto. But after taking an actual look at the guy, she noticed that it wasn’t a watch. It was his hand.

_‘A metal glove…?’_ she thought. But that was highly unlikely.

So what the hell could it be?

She didn’t mean to stare, but she also did not realize what she was doing until after  the bum glared at her. _Glared._ But she was not intimidated by the guy because she knew that look. That angry look of “How could they do this to me? How can I ever trust humanity again?” And beyond that initial look, hidden deep within his eyes, there was that haunted look of despair and horror.

It was the same exact look she saw every morning for months after coming home from two and a half tours. After watching her companions die for freedom, and killing hundreds of “enemies” in the name of freedom. After completing a task that should have won her the highest of honors and instead being honored by watching half her troop die due to American negligence.

(And the strange shining thing on his left side suddenly became forgotten as she felt the horrors of her own adjustments sink in.)

_‘Yeah, he’s a war vet.’_ And a guy like that should be taken care of. She wasn’t scared of him. She knew how he felt, but if didn’t get off the street soon the lighting she saw move over the city was going to drown him. So she approached.

“Hey,” she said softly. His glare only intensified. “Storms a-coming. There’s a shelter about a block away. They’ll take care of you. Give you a place to sleep for the night.”

The man never stopped glaring though. That haunted look never quite left his eyes either. But she tried. If he didn’t want to listen to her, he didn’t have to. She wasn’t his commander and he earned the freedom to do whatever he wanted. But as she turned to exit the small alley, she hoped that he would take her up on his offer.  

She hiked up the stoop and into the shelter of her apartment complex. In her apartment, two stories up, she walked into her tiny bedroom and looked through the bathroom door at herself in the mirror. Usually after working in the factory she would feel dirty, tired, and in desperate need of a hot shower.  But after everything that happened tonight and the fact that she had gotten home two hours after she normally would have, Marceline Raymond was not in the mood to do anything but sleep. So she crawled under her favorite blanket and attempted sleep. But deep in her stomach she knew that the soldier she met outside was not budging from her spot, and somehow it troubled her deeply.

And she was right. The soldier hadn’t moved. He sat as the rain started to drizzle on his face and the approaching thunder began to boom. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come as the rain suddenly stopped falling on his face. The presence he felt beside him told him there was not threat around. It was the girl again, with an umbrella covering him.

“I understand if you don’t want to go to the shelter,” she spoke, “but at least come inside and get out of the rain before you get sick. You can stay in my apartment tonight. I don’t mind.”

He wanted to scream at her about how she didn’t know him and how she didn’t know about the horrors he committed, but he could already tell that she didn’t care. He could also tell she was not Hydra or any real threat. So when she began to walk away and prompted him to “Come on,” he obeyed.  He followed her up to the apartment that felt so familiar yet so different.

_‘You used to live here. It just looks different,’_ he reminded himself.

Once inside the apartment, the girl told him he could shower or bathe if he wanted to, but he refused.

“Whatever floats your boat,” she told him.

Silently, she pulled out a blanket and a pillow and laid it on the coach for him.

“I know what it’s like,” she said as she retreated into her bedroom. “You know, to come home after fighting for so long. Having to live with the horrors of everyone you’ve killed and watching your own comrades die.”

“How?” he found himself asking.

She smiled at him, “I served two and a half tours.”

_‘Women in the army? When did that happen?’_ he wondered.

“I’m Marceline, by the way,” she cut his thoughts while holding out her hand expectantly. He gripped it in silence. “Do you have a name  or do you just want me to keep calling you soldier?” She prompted.

And he really would rather her not call him that. Ever.

So he responded with the first thing he could think of, “James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First official chapter down. Hope people like it.


	3. Fugitive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to upload sooner, but my computer needed rebooting. I do not lay claims to Bucky Barnes or any Marvel characters.

It was early in the morning when Marceline’s alarm went off. Soft music played from her Stark brand phone as she slammed her hand around searching for the small device. Five a.m., only four hours of sleep and she had to be back to work in three hours. That left one good hour to get ready to go to the factory. Or thirty extra minutes of sleep and a big “fuck you” to the concept of showering. Today was a short day anyway. She should be back home by 8 tonight. Perfect time to shower and order a pizza. So yeah, “fuck you, shower.”

Finally, after another thirty minutes of blissful sleep, Marceline got up and brushed her teeth. She dressed herself according to what would keep her most protected in the factory and tied her dark brown hair up. Once finished with the manual labor, she walked out of her bedroom and was startled to see a stranger in her living room.

 _‘Not a stranger,’_ she reminded herself. _‘The soldier… James.’_

She wanted to ask if he slept well, but it didn’t look like he had slept at all. He sat perfectly upright on the couch and stared at the television. It wasn’t on. He seemed angry again. _‘He’s always angry.’_   Not that she really blames him. The army seems to screw everyone that wants to serve them.

“Have a good sleep?” She asked with a small smile.

He turned to look at her, and then quickly shifted his gaze out of the window. Marceline turned to look out of her window. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just the apartment complex across the street and a few people walking their way to work, the bus station, or whatever destination they had in mind.  She turned back to James and frowned, unsure of what was troubling him so much. But she knew better than to press it. So she made her way into the too cramped kitchen and turned on the stove she knew would explode someday.

“Are you hungry?” She questioned pulling some butter, eggs, and bread out of the fridge. “Do you like eggs? Toast? Coffee?”

James moved quickly as he stood up abruptly and walked briskly towards the door.

“Are you leaving? Already?” Marceline questioned with a hint of sadness.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” James said angrily as he cracked open the door.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too dangerous!” He said in a harsh whisper.

And then she was alarmed. Marceline thought for a quick second as James began to step quickly out of his door. She ran to the door and forced him back into her apartment, which didn’t seem to please him too much.

“You’re in trouble?” He didn’t answer or look at her. “Maybe I can help.”

“No!” He screamed as he pushed her away. “You can’t help me. No one can. So just leave me alone.”

And as he walked out of the apartment and left Marceline on the floor, deep seeded confusion bloomed in the young woman’s mind. But she picked herself up and continued on her day, vowing to not help anyone – former soldier or not – for a long while.

And days passed. Life returned to relative normalcy. Without her car, it was a more difficult trek to and from work. Not direct like it used to be. And she groaned every morning when she had to wake up an extra two hours early just to make it to the bus station, and give the bus time to make the four thousand stops it needed too.

One night Marceline was looking through the paper when she saw an ad for an apartment that was closer to her job and a bus station.

“Goodbye early mornings,” she mused as a rustle erupted from her bedroom.

Slowly, Marceline stood and tiptoed to the door separating her living room from the bedroom. She grabbed a hammer that was lying around and readied herself for battle. After abruptly opening the door she found herself bound against a hard body. A hand enclosed itself on her mouth while a colder, harder, arm forced itself on her midsection.  It held her tightly against the body. She looked down and took in the fact that the colder arm was made completely of metal. The man, as she had deciphered by body type, was wearing combat boots, tactical pants with plenty of cargo pockets, and a Kevlar jacket.

Then she looked up to see the face of the perpetrator.

It was HIM! The soldier from a few weeks prior. James. And he had a metal arm with a red star on it. Like the assassin from DC. The one that… that worked for…

 _‘HYDRA!’_ she thought as a small panic brewed in her head.

The soldier she helped was a Hydra assassin who helped in the attempted murder of over two million people. A wanted fugitive. And he had her pinned in her apartment.

She nearly struck out when she realized he had both of her arms pinned. She also noticed that in all this time, he never looked at her. He glared out of the window. Then he lowered his head and spoke softly in her ear.

“Go into the bathroom, lock the door, and _do not_ come out until I come for you.” He let her go and she stumbled a few steps away from him, but she refused to follow a fugitive – who happened to be against everything she once swore to protect – order her.  And he was not happy about that. “Go!” he whispered harshly. “Now!”

And it was something in the anger that seethed in his voice that made her believe she needed to listen to him. In the bathroom, she pulled a vent cover off and reached in for her Desert Eagle.

And as the thought of how crazy it was for her to have hidden guns in her apartment, she reminded herself, _‘I mean, I am a former Navy SEAL.’_

She listened for the sounds of a struggle, but there didn’t seem to be one. She bent down to look through the crack under the door. James was in the midst of crawling out of the window, and by the looks of it, he was scaling the side of the building. He was making it to the roof. So Marceline made a rash decision to stop him. She once vowed to protect this country, and if it meant catching and turning in a dangerous fugitive that could probably kill her. So she ran out of the apartment and took the stairs up to the roof two at a time.  Upon bursting from the door she found the Winter Soldier fighting five guys at once. All of them seemed to have Hydra symbols on their uniforms somewhere.

But why would he be fighting his own men? One of them aimed for his head and before she could even process her thoughts, the gun fired and shot the guy in the head, saving James. She took a few more shots as James shot and murdered three of the guys who were after him.

Once all five men were down, James turned that cold angry glare at Marceline.

“I told you to stay inside,” he growled.

“Yeah, I have problem with following orders,” she replied cockily. “Especially orders from fugitives. Assassin fugitives.” The Winter Soldier flinched and turned to pick up the fallen men. Which repeaked Marceline’s curiosity. “Why did you fight and kill your own men?”

“They are not _my_ men.”

“You work with them.”

“No,” he whispered, “not anymore.”

“You left them? Was it after the shield incident?” he didn’t respond. He continued on collecting the men on the ground.  She wanted to ask him why, but she held her tongue. He didn’t seem much like a talker anyway.

Once he had all the men on his shoulders he turned away from her and began to walk towards the edge of the roof.

“Where are you going with them?” She prompted.

“To get rid of their bodies. If Hydra finds them here they’ll come and kill everyone within the borough.”

“Will you be returning,” she asked softly. He never responded.

A part of her wanted to take him into the authorities, and another part wanted to help him find peace. Whatever Hydra had done to make him turn against them, it really seemed to have fucked him up.  She could feel the torment ooze off of him in every breath he took. And she knew exactly want it felt to be betrayed by the organization you were willing to give your life for.

She took one gander at the paper that had been lying on the coffee table and became determined to move out of this place. It just wasn’t safe anymore. As she lay in her bed slowly drifting into sleep, she heard a faint whisper beside her bed.

“I’m sorry,” it said. “I’ll keep you safe from them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and criticisms. And thank you for viewing.


End file.
